1You Can Run Marathons
I love to run. I really do.
It might be surprising that I’d start a book by declaring my love for anything but music or performing—but I ask that you bear with me. I promise it will make sense once we get there.
So, yes. I love to run. I love the feel of the air on my skin, the pounding of my heart in my chest, the strength of my legs as they propel me forward. I love the feeling of sweat as it gathers on different parts of my body and the cool sensation as it breaks away and slides down my rib cage. I love the work that always precedes the reward, the endorphin high that comes with the miles.
I love going farther than I thought I could, doing what I sometimes worry I won’t be able to do. Surprising myself each time I have doubts, and then surprising myself again when I overcome them.
How did I start? The way any of us starts anything: I saw a sign. (Quite literally.)
One day, while in the park, I saw a notice announcing an upcoming 5K for cancer research. I wanted to do something, to contribute. Why not sign up? I thought. It was for a good cause.
Almost as soon as that thought appeared in my head, another came through: I’m not going to be able to do that. I have never even run a 5K.
Still, I wanted to try. I chose to listen to the first voice because it was the purest and most immediate. It was instinct; it was desire. So, I figured it out. I found a route and I started to run. And I haven’t stopped since.
(That is perhaps one of the most important lessons I’ve learned: Our deepest desires lead us where we want to go. Where we are meant to be.)
In the years since, running has become a meditation. A way of processing. It helps me think, to mull over parts of my daily life, to enjoy silence and feel connected to myself through the sound of my own breath and the movements of my mind. Like a lot of the other things I do, I run because it gives me joy and makes me feel at peace. I have run two official full marathons and four or five half marathons. In training, I log fifteen to twenty-five miles per week. Truthfully, my feet are always in a state of mending. Sometimes, I take it too far and end up with an injury. When I pass that threshold, I pay for it. I am still learning how much is enough, how balance is important.
I often don’t listen to music, books, or podcasts when I run. I was once told by an amazing osteopath, Fabi, that when you run you should be listening to your body, and, for me, he was right. I want my only frequency to be dialed in to my body and what it needs. I listen to my physical self and the deep wisdom and insight it provides as I take each step: What feels strong? What needs support? What feels better than it did last time? How much farther, this time, have I gone? It encourages me to push the finish line farther and challenge myself. It also helps me notice the world around me. It reminds me that I am always evolving, always growing, and that that growth is worthy of reflection and celebration. As humans, no matter where we are in life, we’re all changing, all the time, minute to minute, discovering and rediscovering who we are. We are constantly in a wonderful, dynamic state of becoming. Running echoes that process. It requires change—in breath, in pace, in direction. When a turn shows up, we take it. When there’s a hill, we climb it, and then we feel the ease of the descent and the expanse that appears in front of us. It’s control, and it’s surrender. Control and surrender.
There are days when I cannot wait to get out and run. But there also are days when I don’t want to go outside or even on the treadmill. Those are the days that teach me the most. Those are the days where I have to ask myself, How can I move past a moment of not wanting to do it? What do I need to feel that desire again? I sit with that feeling and then figure out what it is I can do that will get me out that door.
The funny thing is this: On those days when I’ve been able to overcome my own resistance, the run that follows is often absolutely the best.
* * *
A few years ago, I wrote a letter to my younger self for a magazine.
Dear Cynthia,
You can run marathons.
In your life and in your work; through the city of New York, on the stage, and onscreen.
It may not feel like it right now, but your spirit and body are ready.
There’s nothing holding you back.
You might think you aren’t far enough yet, but that ache means you’re getting closer.
Please don’t stop. You are so close.
Someday soon, you will be where I am right now.
You’ll think, “How on earth is this possible? How did this all happen?”
It will happen because of the work you’re doing now
The decisions you are making (both good and bad),
The people you choose to let in.
Don’t be afraid of those moments where the world feels like it’s falling out from under you.
It will happen.
And when it does, don’t run.
Let it fall.
When the wreckage comes to rest, you’ll be on new sturdy ground.
The bigger the dream, the bigger the steps needed to achieve it.
Everything is possible.
When you do accomplish a goal, embrace the moment.
Live in it.
Revel in it. The big and the small.
Don’t get wrapped up in “what’s next?”
A lot of your “nows” are pretty spectacular.
If you don’t stop to enjoy them
You’ll miss them.
Remember to love and honor the people who come into your life and care for you.
When you ask for help, they will be there.
Send them light in your waking moments and when you sleep
Wish them warmth, happiness, and safety.
No one can do what we do alone.
Don’t try.
You will meet people from all walks of life.
Become a safe space for them to share their stories.
These are the moments of why you’re really here.
You are a space where people can see themselves in you.
Make sure whatever is reflected back is bright, sparkly, and full of joy and love.
What you give out will come back to you.
Oh—and call your mother more. She misses you but she won’t say it because she doesn’t want you to feel sad. Call her.
Cynthia, you might have noticed a pattern.
LOVE and GRATITUDE
They will carry you to where I am now—and beyond.
And finally, Cynthia, you are enough.
Copyright © 2025 by Cynthia Erivo
